Hostile Takeover
by ajsqdaway
Summary: Sam is a hostage negotiator in a hot situation that's too close to the Project for comfort.
1. Default Chapter

PROLOGUE  
  
Dr. Sam Beckett shook his head to clear the last of the fog from his vision. The first thing he saw was toes, his toes, in comfortable tennis shoes, then he noticed the comfortable jeans. There were calm voices murmuring in the background. He held his breath for a second and continued to study his toes while using his peripheral vision to see if anyone was addressing him. He issued a slight sigh when all he saw were T-shirt clad backs to him, the wearers all huddled over something he couldn't see on a low table.  
  
Sam continued his self-examination and discovered he was leaning casually against a wall with his arms crossed against his chest. Slowly, he looked around and took in the surroundings. There was a dirty wood floor, a cheesy looking bed and a dilapidated table that the other occupants were crowded around, illuminated by a thrift shop lamp. It was impossible to determine the era by this room; everything appeared to be used, hand me downs. Only his shoes gave a hint of the time because they were a very complicated style of Nike shoe. Sam was impressed and confused at the same time by an expensive shoe owner being in such a tacky room.  
  
He stood up straighter, making the decision to move closer to the crowd and listen in when one of the men stood up and faced him. It was a younger man, in his mid to late 20's, trim and athletic. He was holding a telephone receiver to his ear, his hand over the mouthpiece blocking the next question from the person at the other end. He looked right at Sam with a perplexed expression.  
  
"He wants a helicopter, twenty-five thousand dollars cash in unmarked bills and a pizza! What do I do?" The young man appeared to be as stumped as the four other clones, all of which were staring at Sam and obviously expecting an answer.  
  
Caught off guard and completely unprepared, Dr. Sam Beckett, time traveler, froze, then replied softly, "Oh, boy!"  
  
HOSTILE TAKEOVER  
  
By AJ Squaredaway  
  
PART ONE  
  
I really have no idea exactly how long I've been Quantum Leaping. If I sat down and tried to think it out, I'd probably not be able to come up with a number. I could, however, come up with a list of skills I have picked up. One of them being 'deflecting attention', which gives me the precious time I need to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing. It works most of the time. Sometimes it comes right back at me.  
  
The men were obviously expecting an answer, so Sam gave them one. "Ask what he wants on it."  
  
There were confused looks exchanged among them, as well as shrugged shoulders.  
  
"On the pizza. What does he want on the pizza?" Sam clarified verbally as he scrambled mentally to come up with something else to say. He heard the man with the phone ask repeat the question into the receiver.  
  
"He's laughing, sir," the young man reported, turning to face Sam again. The team was now totally stumped. "And he's asking for you." He held out the receiver, frowning.  
  
Sam hesitated, then stepped forward and accepted the phone. "Hello?" He said tentatively. The laughter on the other end died down only slightly.  
  
"OK! That's it, Billy! I think we've tortured them enough!" Sam heard more chuckling then the phone went dead.  
  
A couple of the half dozen young men checked their watches then looked expectantly at Sam.  
  
A training scenario of some sort? Sam wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, and got the feeling he was in charge here. He was just at the point of dismissing all of them when a powerfully built man burst into the room, a smile on his rugged face. "OK, troops! Short lunch break then back here in an hour. Field PT is next, so wear your fatigues. We'll be doing some recon. Get outta here."  
  
The group talked amongst themselves and started to file out of the room, discussing where the closest lunch could be had. One man broke off and approached Sam.  
  
"Sergeant, I'd like to thank you for this opportunity. They don't come around too often," and he stuck his hand out.  
  
Sam shook his hand and murmured a response, as a thought ran through his head. 'Sergeant? In what army?' The big man was gathering up the radio equipment, and tossed two portable radios to Sam.  
  
"Here. I don't know where the box went. Whatcha want for lunch?" Arms loaded, the man followed the group out the door. Sam was the last one to leave, and gave the room a last, puzzled look as he closed the wobbly door. He followed the big guy down a narrow, dark set of wooden stairs that opened out into a very short street. The others piled into two separate cars and zoomed off, and Sam noticed that the paved road turned to dirt just a few buildings away. In fact, the whole 'town' stopped just a few buildings away.  
  
Sam stopped and took in the whole scene. It was a fake town! Something you'd see on a Hollywood back lot, except this little grouping was set in a clearing between two long hills that were covered with trees. There was nothing else around.  
  
"Hey! Bill!" The large man called. Sam, still a bit stunned, looked up. "You ridin' with me? No sense in taking two cars."  
  
"Uh, yeah, OK," Sam replied.  
  
Sam's partner opened the trunk of a plain, brown sedan parked close to the building they had just exited, and tossed in the radios. Following suit, Sam walked over and put the radios he was holding in the same trunk while the man got in the driver's seat. The contents of the trunk were fascinating; there were metal ammo boxes galore and canvas bags with batons and handcuffs spilling out. There was one long, metal box that Sam suspected must hold a rifle of some sort, figuring that all this stuff had to do with law enforcement in some way. Or so he hoped. As he closed the trunk, the car started up. Sam had to trot to the passenger door or be left behind.  
  
He was barely seated when the car took off. The motion of it shooting forward made the door close and Sam scrambled to hook the seat belt. They left the 'town' in a cloud of dust.  
  
The big guy whistled tunelessly as Sam inspected the car. There was a police radio bolted low on the dashboard, and a laptop computer on the floor, along with several empty fast food restaurant cups. The driver was fast, but good and Sam relaxed a bit as he smoothly took the curves. Soon the dirt road joined with a paved one, then a security gate. The others had left it open for them, and after they passed through the driver got out to shut and lock the gate. Sam took the opportunity to move the rearview mirror over so he could see what he looked like this leap.  
  
The eyes of a man of Asian descent looked back at him. His hair was military short, black and glossy. His skin was a medium tone, and Sam guessed Japanese. He was a good-looking man who kept himself in shape. The mirror was re-adjusted before the driver returned, and Sam had enough time to quickly slip the wallet from his back pocket. It was black and flat, and when he opened it up Sam saw an FBI shield on one side and a photo ID on the other for William Takeshta. Sergeant William Takeshta. Sam slipped the wallet back in his pocket as the driver jumped in.  
  
The car shot forward once again.  
  
"So, how about sub sandwiches? It's the closest. And we do want to get back in time to set up some booby traps!" He obviously enjoyed his work.  
  
"Uh, sure," Sam responded.  
  
"Hey, I forgot to congratulate you for making the Lieutenant's list again. I hear you're number one. That right?"  
  
"I think so, " Sam guessed, wishing his holographic Observer would arrive soon to fill in these details.  
  
"That's great! Are you gonna take the bars this time? You can't keep refusing promotions and get anywhere in this Department. How may times have you turned it down? Twice?" The man laughed out loud, making Sam smile. "I can't even get on the damn list and you're turning them down! You must have huevos the size of coconuts, bro!" He laughed again. "Hey! You must know that written test pretty good by now."  
  
Sam took that as a rhetorical question and just smiled as the man rambled on, talking and whistling. Apparently Bill Takeshta wasn't known as a conversationalist, or this guy just liked to talk.  
  
Looking around, Sam saw a notebook on the back seat and reached back for it. "Elements of Hostage Negotiation" was printed on the front cover. He only had time to leaf through a few chapters before his partner spoke again.  
  
"Hey, the class schedules are on the floor back there. We gotta make sure they get passed out when we get back. Grab, 'em will ya? If they're up here, I'll see 'em. Give 'em a look over, too, see if there are any typos. Can't trust Vicky sometimes."  
  
Sam exchanged the notebook for the fat envelope he saw on the floor. He slipped out the papers, stapled together in pairs. On the top was "Hostage Negotiation Team Training" just below the Federal Bureau of Investigations letterhead. Looking for a date, Sam was disappointed to see only "February 5 - 9" with no year. He quickly glanced over the program, not noting any typos, and slipped them back into the envelope. At least he knew what he was in for in next few days.  
  
For some reason that didn't make him feel better. He glanced at his watch as they pulled into a small strip mall, the first civilization since they had left the training ground. It had been almost an hour and no sign of Al. The car bounced to a stop in front of a small sandwich shop. The others were already there milling around inside, and the driver hopped out and cheerfully joined them. Sam sighed and reached for the door handle. It was going to be a long afternoon.  
  
Project Quantum Leap  
  
Stallion's Gate, New Mexico  
  
March 15, 2000  
  
"He's leaped, Dr. Elesee." The wild-haired programmer found it hard not to fidget, and rubbed his hands together while he shifted his feet. He knew what had to be done, but wasn't exactly sure who had the authority to approve the action. In a groundbreaking project like this, there were always times when rules were made on the fly during seat-of-your-pants actions. This was one of those times.  
  
"This had to happen sooner or later," Donna Elesee-Beckett mused. "The Admiral can't be expected to be chained here. It's a good thing we kept Sammy Jo available. We have to include this scenario in the procedures manual."  
  
Gooshie raised his eyebrows. "We have a procedure manual?"  
  
Donna couldn't help but grin. "Yeah. It's up here," and she tapped her temple. "Writing it down is another item on my things-to-do list. A physicists' work is never done," she sighed. "Ziggy?"  
  
"Yesssssss?" the feminine parallel hybrid computer drawled.  
  
Although she was a machine, Donna thought she noticed a tone of distraction in Ziggy's response, and her brow wrinkled for an instant in a frown. She also knew the computer tended towards emotional fits and almost human concerns based on whatever she was inputting at the moment, and made a mental note to ask her about it later. God knows what she was scanning at this moment. "Ziggy, please call Dr. Fuller to the Waiting Room for briefing."  
  
There was a slight hesitation. "All right, Dr. Elesee. And may I ask where you will be?"  
  
That made Gooshie and Donna glance up at the glittering orb suspended over their heads, then back to each other. Gooshie shook his head and shrugged, indicating he had no idea what was going on in Ziggy's 'mind'. She usually dismissed Project staff as necessary pests, and didn't inquire about their plans. She could talk to them anywhere in the catacombs of the Project.  
  
"I'll be in the Project, Ziggy. I'm not going outside, so you can find me at any time. Is that what you wanted to know?"  
  
Again, a hesitation. "OK. And I've notified Dr. Fuller."  
  
"Ziggy?" Donna asked. "Is something wrong?"  
  
The artificial intelligence sniffed. "That is a subjective question, Dr. Elesee. Bosnia is wrong. Bigotry is wrong. Those shoes with that skirt is wrong."  
  
Donna couldn't help but glance at her feet as Gooshie stifled a laugh, then clamped her lips shut as she looked at the ceiling. "What do you know about fashion?" She snapped, putting her hand up in a stop motion. "No, don't tell me. Sorry I asked. Is Dr. Beeks with the Visitor?"  
  
"Yes. And everything is fine in the Waiting Room."  
  
Donna Elesee wasn't a mother, but she recognized the awkward way a child would try to direct someone away from something, and Ziggy, being akin to a stepchild, was doing just that. She was immediately suspicious. "That's good, because that's just where I'm headed."  
  
She spun on her heel and headed to the door. Ziggy was oddly silent.  
  
The Marriott Suites  
  
Washington D.C.  
  
March 15, 2000  
  
Admiral Albert Calavicci sighed as he flipped the suitcase shut, zipped it, and locked it with a chuckle. 'If anyone really wanted in this thing, that piss-ant lock wouldn't stop 'em', he thought. It gave his wife peace of mind, though, so he was happy to oblige. Her makeup was safe from thievery for the time being.  
  
"Hey!" he called out cheerily. "You ready?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, cool your jets," came the lilting reply from the bathroom. Beth Calavicci stepped out, tugging at a stubborn earring and smiling.  
  
Al couldn't help but marvel at her. Even after four children she was beautiful as when he first met her. They rarely had time together apart from Project Quantum Leap, and she was the reason these budgeting junkets were even bearable. He stepped up and circled his arms around her waist and drew her close.  
  
She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Did you call the bellman?" She asked coyly.  
  
"Why? Aren't I enough?" He teased, nibbling at her pearl-dressed neck. His hands drifted down to her rump.  
  
She giggled softly in his ear. "Back for more, sailor?"  
  
His voice was muffled. "I'll take as much as I can get!"  
  
She rubbed his back and tossed her head back. He was kissing her adam's apple when there was a knock at the door.  
  
"Bellman!" a voice chirped from the hall.  
  
Al hesitated for a second. "I didn't hear that."  
  
Beth laughed and gently pushed him back. "Sorry. Reality rears its ugly head, dear."  
  
He tugged at his beltline. "Ahem," he coughed. "I'll let the interloper in."  
  
As Beth smoothed her blouse, Al opened the door and allowed the bellman in, pointing out the suitcases on the bed. The worker loaded them onto the brass cart and Al slipped him a tip.  
  
"And hail a cab for us, will you?"  
  
"Yes, sir!" the man replied. "Are you all checked out?"  
  
Al gave Beth a sly smile, "Unfortunately, yes."  
  
The bellman nodded a quick acknowledgment and disappeared down the hall. Beth collected her purse and coat, and helped her husband on with his dress blue jacket. She retrieved the white cover from the closet, handed it to him, and he tucked it under his arm. He offered the other arm to her, and she took it with a smile. As they left the hotel room, Beth snatched Al's briefcase from a chair by the door. The door clicked shut on their heels.  
  
Waiting for an elevator, Beth brushed some lint from Al's jacket. "Ah, a man in uniform," she sighed. It was their private joke. "Always good to turn the ladies' heads."  
  
He smiled at her, and took her hand. His military bearing was second nature, and he refrained from any physical demonstrations of affections (PDA's, he called them) while in public. Beth knew this and endlessly tortured him with her teasing. She got a kick out of watching him squirm.  
  
He grinned. "I only care about one head," he said quietly.  
  
Beth's face lit up like a summer sunrise. "You don't say?" Her hand dropped low, hovering in the area of his crotch. "And what, exactly, do you mean by that, hmmmm?"  
  
Al was saved by the ding of and arriving elevator. The occupants behind the parting doors saw a dignified couple step into the car, no idea of what was going through the heads of the uniformed Admiral and his attractive wife.  
  
Al cleared his throat as the doors closed. Beth bit her lips to keep from laughing. He spoke while studying the lighted, descending numbers over the doorway. "So you'll be picking up that coat for Liz while I'm at Weitzman's office, right?"  
  
"Right. Do you think there'll be a problem with the flight?"  
  
"Nah," he finally dared to look at her and grinned. "I checked with my Pentagon contacts, and the jet is just sitting there, ready to go. I'm glad we got all this budgeting ca-ca straightened out early. Can't wait to get back to someplace warm," he covered his mouth with his hand so only Beth could hear him, "so I can rip your clothes off and run amok."  
  
Beth feigned a coughing fit to cover her laughter as her husband looked innocently up at the indicator just reaching 'L'. 


	2. Part Two

HOSTILE TAKEOVER  
  
By AJ Squaredaway  
  
PART TWO  
  
This was one beginning to be one of the weirdest leaps I could remember. Well, that's not saying much; with my mind being so Swiss-cheesed from leaping, it was impossible to rely on any of my few remaining memories. But I did know that I had been here for quite a while, and it was weird that Al hadn't checked in yet. I really needed to talk to him. Although I had the name of my host, I've been unable to figure out where in the past I was. It's like the Land That Time Forgot...there was nothing here to tell me the date!  
  
The boys, as Sam thought of them, had tossed back lunch in a spirited fashion. The conversation centered around terrorists, weapons and negotiating techniques. Sam picked up a lot, so it wasn't a waste of time for him. Whenever a student asked him a question, he did the instructor trick of asking, "What do you think?" Worked every time. Eventually, they directed their questions to Chuck, Sam's burly partner.  
  
After lunch, they all headed back to the fake, Hollywood-style town that made up part of the training grounds. The 'boys' scattered and donned green fatigues stored in their cars. Meanwhile, Chuck shoved a hand drawn map into Sam's hands and pointed out red 'Xs' scattered around the roughly sketched training area.  
  
"That's where we'll gas 'em," Chuck said happily. "Put about a half dozen canisters at each site. I love this part!"  
  
Taking the map, Sam oriented himself and looked around for the canisters. Unable to locate anything remotely resembling a canister, he tapped Chuck on the shoulder. Chuck was pulling on his camouflaged shirt. "Uh, where's the canisters?"  
  
Chuck looked at him like he sprouted a third eyeball. "You didn't bring 'em? You said you'd get 'em!"  
  
Sam stepped back, "Oh, yeah! I did, huh? Never mind. I know where they are."  
  
Chuck looked relieved. "OK, then."  
  
Sam went back to the scattered cars and played a deduction game. Which one of these cars was his? He fished keys from his front jeans pocket, and zeroed in on another bland looking sedan. How come all company cars look alike? He wondered, not at all surprised when the key fit in the trunk. He popped it and found a case of canisters labeled 'CS Tear Gas'. Eureka! He said to himself and pocketed the keys. He glanced around the interior and found a metal gun case similar to Chuck's, and two duffel bags. One had green fatigues in it, so Sam took it out. The other had radios, manuals, pads of lined paper and an extremely dog-eared map book. 'Hey!' he thought. 'Those map books are updated yearly. I can get an idea of...' A hearty thump on his back nearly took the wind out of him as it derailed his thoughts.  
  
"Hurry up, Billy! I wanna get outta here before dark!" Chuck started loading canisters in every available pocket and an empty duffel bag.  
  
Sam shrugged on the fatigue jacket, and filled his pockets, too. Chuck handed him the duffel. "Here. Drop those off and I'll get them started. I'll meet ya at Point 1." He slammed the trunk with a beefy hand and trotted off, whistling for attention. Looking at the map, Sam located Point 1 and plotted the route there via all the red 'Xs'. With a sigh, Sam jogged into the woods.  
  
Project Quantum Leap  
  
March 15, 2000  
  
Donna had tried to go directly to the Waiting Room, but was stopped by a couple of technicians while enroute to sign off paperwork. 'Better now than piled on my desk,' she thought as she glanced over the papers and scribbled a signature. Routine stuff. She was almost to the Waiting Room when the lights dimmed, then returned to their normal level.  
  
"Ziggy?" she asked, slowing. "Why did the lights dim?" They dimmed again, and she stopped in the hall. "Ziggy?"  
  
"I don't know, Dr. Elesee," the voice replied. "I'm running a diagnostic of basic systems now. There. It seems to be located in Section 15. A power coupling failing."  
  
"Well, get the troubleshooters over there." Donna started forward again, noting that Section 15 was in the complete opposite direction.  
  
"I don't trust them, Dr. Elesee," Ziggy pouted. "One of them used a hammer on my relays last week. Could you check it?"  
  
Donna hesitated, eyes narrowing at a point in the ceiling. She got the distinct feeling she was being stalled. But if there was a failing coupling, there was always the danger of fire, and fire in an underground complex was a serious matter. She sighed. "Fine." Let Ziggy win this one, she thought. "But if this is a ruse to keep me from the Waiting Room, I'll fry your relays myself."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Ziggy replied politely.  
  
That's when Donna knew the computer was covering something. Ziggy was never polite. She started back to Section 15 at a ground eating pace.  
  
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~  
  
Dr. Verbina Beeks had been playing verbal volleyball with the latest Visitor ever since he'd leaped in. He was skilled at saying a lot without saying anything, using a minimum of words. She was skilled in reading all that wasn't said. It was quite a match.  
  
She could read his body language, too, and saw that he was a lot more scared than he indicated; obviously a man used to being in control. They were insufferably polite to each other, and Beeks felt they both came away with a mutual feeling of distrust, apparently something they were both used to. The only time that she felt the Visitor knew he had the edge was when Beeks asked him the date. It was impossible to cover her shock, and she saw him repress a smile when he realized he got her.  
  
The conversational sparring was tiring, and Beeks was thrown into mental turmoil as to her next course of action. Thoughtfully, she perused the personal information she had obtained: Name: William Takeshta. Age: 34. Occupation: FBI Investigator, currently working as a hostage negotiator in the Virginia area. It wasn't much, but she'd worked with less before, and she knew that Ziggy had started researching the instant the information was available. But the date issue had taken Beeks by surprise. She hated to admit it, but she was stumped for the moment.  
  
She knew Ziggy had digested the information, and was surprised the parallel hybrid computer hadn't commented already. Beeks looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Ziggy," she asked. "Did you see the date Sam's leaped into?"  
  
"Yes, Dr. Beeks, I noticed it immediately. I'm currently running scenarios as to how this could adversely effect the Project."  
  
"That was my concern, also. Normally, we'd tell the Admiral. The circumstances have made that well, problematic." Beeks mused.  
  
"The Observer needs to be informed, but Dr. Beckett should not. And also knowing the entanglements of human relations, Dr. Elesee should not be informed, either." Ziggy's tone was one of regret.  
  
Beeks thought a second, arms crossed over her chest. "The Observer will no doubt be Sammy Jo on this one, at least for now. Hopefully she can hold the fort until the Admiral gets here later tonight." She tapped her lower lip with a well-manicured nail. "And Dr. Elesee is a professional, Ziggy. I think she would be fine with it, but we may have to make the date available on a need-to-know basis only. And right now, she doesn't need to know."  
  
"All right, Dr. Beeks. But I want to inform you that Dr. Elesee is on her way here and should arrive in 1.25 minutes. And I think she may be very...curious."  
  
Verbina raised her eyebrows at that one. " 'Curious'? Is there a reason she would be 'curious'?"  
  
Ziggy hesitated a second. "It's time to run system diagnostics. I will answer your inquiry later, after I research human emotional responses in a bit more detail."  
  
Beeks laughed shortly at the obvious dodge. If her feelings were right, it would be the only laugh she would have for awhile.  
  
Washington D.C.  
  
The cab dropped off Al in front of the Senate Office Building on Constitution Avenue. He gave Beth a quick peck on the cheek and said he'd meet her at the airport terminal. He stepped out into the brisk, spring day feeling very content. He gripped the briefcase and smiled at Beth throwing him a kiss through the cab window as she pulled away.  
  
He entered the building and automatically removed his cover from his head. He easily passed through the metal detectors, and was picking up his briefcase when he felt his pager vibrate on his wrist. He knew what it meant, and also knew Sam would be annoyed at him arriving late in the leap; Sammy Jo did a good job, but Al felt that Sam was more comfortable with him.  
  
When he entered Weitzman's office the receptionist smiled and immediately lifted the intercom to inform Weitzman of Al's arrival. "Hi, honey! Tell Wietzman I just got paged, so I'll be in the conference room." She nodded and passed on the message as Al slipped into the empty room. He opened the briefcase and flipped open the small computer inside, turning it on. When it was ready, he typed in his password and "What's up?"  
  
The cryptic reply, "Target has moved, your presence is requested," made him grin. The non-information wouldn't be of any help to any hackers.  
  
"I'll be there as scheduled, exact time to follow," he typed in, then logged off. He just finished securing the case when Weitzman breezed in the room, followed by his two aides.  
  
"Admiral," he greeted with a phony grin, offering his hand. Al shook it in an automatic response.  
  
"Senator," he replied. "Just got a message that I'm needed out West, and taking up your offer for the jet."  
  
"Actually, that works out well, Admiral. I'm hitching a ride to Chicago, then it's all yours. The crew's already prepping for departure."  
  
Well, Al thought. That works out well; it makes the wait at the terminal shorter for him and Beth. "Great," he replied. "So can I hitch a ride to the airport?"  
  
"Yep, just on our way. I just have to drop some papers off at the Capitol Building, and the car is waiting there already. Let's go."  
  
Al picked up the case, pleased at the timing of all this. True, he was stuck in the jet with a windbag politician and his bean-counting aides, but it wouldn't be for that long. He and Beth would have the bird to themselves from Chicago to New Mexico. He couldn't help but grin at that thought.  
  
They left the office, aides following like trained dogs, and went down to an underground level where the Senate subway would take them directly to the Capitol Building. Another Senate perk, Al thought. Never have to worry about parking. But then again, that was never a problem at the Project, either!  
  
The open-sided rail car arrived as soon as they got there, and soon they were whisked away from the platform, en route the Capitol Building at the end of Pennsylvania Avenue.  
  
***************  
  
It had taken a lot less time than Beth had anticipated picking up the coat for their daughter Liz. She arrived at the small airport terminal way ahead of her husband. She tipped the driver, and had the bags taken to the jet, then settled into the comfortable chair in the VIP lounge that overlooked the tarmac. She got a cup of hot chocolate, and pulled out a novel. She rarely had time to read, and settled down happily. The room was empty except for the host behind the small bar.  
  
Absorbed in her book, she hardly noticed that she'd finished the drink and the amount of time that had passed. She'd read more than expected, felt how stiff her lower back was, and thought that Al should have been here by now. Glancing at her watch, she stood up and stretched. There was a wall-mounted television over the small bar, the volume off. What caught Beth's attention was the jiggly picture of the White House, obviously taken by a hand held camera at the scene. A harried looking reporter was talking directly in the camera, and Beth could see scores of uniformed Police scurrying in the background.  
  
A very bad feeling hit her. "Turn up the sound!" she ordered, eyes glued to the screen. By the time she got to the bar, the host had turned on the sound.  
  
"Right now, officials tell us a negotiating team is being called in, and the identity of the suspect is unknown. Clark," the TV screen reverted to a studio, with the live feed displayed on the side.  
  
"Thank you, Doug, for that update. We will check in with you as the situation changes." The dapperly dressed talking head turned to the TV audience. "For those just tuning in, an unknown man has taken the White House gate guards hostage, claiming the truck he is in contains a bomb. The scene for five blocks around is in the process of being secured, and the President, who is inside the White House, has been notified." Beth gasped, and the host's eyes widened in shock. "It is unknown where the President is inside the White House right now, but the situation is considered critical, and not yet secure. Everyone in a ten block area is advised to stay inside and lock all doors."  
  
The host snorted. "Lotta good that's gonna do if it's anything like Oklahoma City." Beth had to agree. The camera, obviously a long distance away, showed a shaky image of a white van next to a guardhouse, outside the White House fence, but within a stone's throw to the building. If that van were packed with explosives as the driver claimed, it would do a lot of damage.  
  
She pulled out her cell phone and called Weitzman's office. The line was busy, and stayed busy for quite awhile. Patiently, she kept trying. She knew Al wasn't going near the White House, but it was odd he wasn't here. She felt more concerned as time passed, and no Al. Finally, she got through to Terri, the receptionist, who told her that the whole area was locked down and secured, and Weitzman and Al were probably stuck on the subway. "At least, being underground, they're safe if that thing goes," Terri reasoned, trying to calm herself and Beth. "If they were in the Senate Building they would have called, but in the subway, nothing works. I guess we just have to wait it out." Beth thanked her and hung up, only a little bit comforted.  
  
Her next call was to the Project.  
  
**************  
  
When the subway screeched to a stop, the lights flickering, the first thought that entered Al's head was, 'That's what they get for using low bid contractors.' It was several minutes before a pre-recorded message came over the intercom.  
  
"There has been a Security breach. Service will resume when security protocol has been re-established." The message was repeated in four languages, twice.  
  
Weitzman, meanwhile just sighed. "This happens a couple of times a month. It'll get started up soon," then he turned to talk to his aide.  
  
'Great,' Al thought. 'And I didn't even bring a book.' He settled down, and let his mind wander. Everyone else on the trolley car was as unconcerned as Weitzman.  
  
Al was pulled out of his mental vacation by the uneasy shifting of the other passengers. He glanced at his watch. It had been about twenty minutes, and now everyone seemed to be growing edgy. He loosened his collar, as it was growing a little warmer in the closeness of the tunnel. Al noticed Weitzman checking his watch, too. Several passengers were poking at their cell phones, and obviously perturbed at their uselessness.  
  
"Something's not right," Weitzman mumbled. He sent an aide forward to the next car. Just as the aid disappeared from sight, the whole car was rocked by a loud noise. Everyone shot to their feet.  
  
"That sounded like an explosion!" Al snapped, his heart racing. Instinctively, the occupants crowded to the back of the car, away from the perceived direction of the noise. It was several tense minutes before another, smaller explosion was heard, and a large puff of smoke wafted over the cars. The aide shot back into the car, just as faint popping noises were heard.  
  
"I heard gunfire up ahead! Everyone out the back!" The aide was followed by a wide-eyed crowd attempting to put distance between themselves and the explosions.  
  
Al joined them as they moved to the back car to escape, as the tunnel was too narrow to exit out the side of the cars. He didn't like feeling trapped in the crowd; he studied the cars and the tunnel, looking for any way out. He grabbed the aide by his sleeve. "Keep these people calm. They'll trample each other!" The Admiral's demeanor left no room for argument and the aide moved to obey.  
  
The cars emptied out quickly. Al could hear footfalls in the tunnel, and headed to the exit himself. Just as he reached the doorway platform, the sound of gunfire came from the tunnel, and he hit the floor in an automatic reaction. The lights in the tunnel flickered, then went out, and screams echoed in the darkness. When the gunfire stopped, he jumped out of the car and started grabbing people.  
  
"Back in the car!" he ordered, shoving the dark forms behind him, towards the vehicles. He could feel smoke stinging his nostrils as he helped as many people as he could. His eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see a few forms on the ground, and he heard someone barking orders. He stood between the rails, trying to focus on the speakers, when someone roughly grabbed his arm and shoved him backwards.  
  
"Move it!"  
  
Al glanced over into the eyes of a masked man, and knew they were all in big trouble. 


	3. Part Three

HOSTILE TAKEOVER  
  
By AJSquaredaway  
  
PART THREE  
  
Project Quantum Leap  
  
After Donna received the call from Beth, she immediately had Ziggy check out all the resources at her disposal, knowing they would be more timely and accurate than CNN. Ziggy briefed her, and she told the parallel hybrid computer to update her immediately with any changes. Then, she headed to the Control Room.  
  
On her way there, she reflected on what she knew so far.  
  
Earlier, when she had finally made it to Beeks' office, she demanded answers to Ziggy's elusiveness. After being calmed by the annoyingly cool Beeks, she had finally gotten the information on the Visitor, and almost wished she hadn't asked.  
  
Her husband had leaped into the present. Today, in fact. He was a mere few minutes behind them, somewhere in Virginia! The idea had made her giddy and breathless. She could call him on the phone! As her fingers twitched at the idea and she felt her body tense at the urge to strangle a phone number out of the Visitor, Beeks had to grasp her shoulders and bring her back down to Earth. The doctor made her see that there weren't enough facts on this Leap to give them any direction of action, and under the circumstances Sam shouldn't be told how this information related to the Project's timeline. In fact, they had to find out if he already knew, so it was time to send Sammy Jo on a fact-finding mission.  
  
When Donna left Beeks for the Control Room, she had to fight the urge to stop in the Waiting Room. This was when Ziggy had alerted her to Beth's call, and after speaking with her and getting the news updates from Ziggy, Donna was convinced this Leap wasn't a coincidence.  
  
It was Fate. And Fate wasn't done yet.  
  
When she got to the Control Room, Gooshie, Tina and Sammy Jo were at the console, huddled over a slightly re-designed hand link like a new toy. They all looked up when she entered, the link instantly forgotten.  
  
"Dr. Elesee," Sammy Jo greeted. "Ziggy has been very mysterious about some complications with this Leap?" They all gave Donna their full attention, their faces etched with curiosity.  
  
Donna didn't know where to start. She managed to explain the Visitor's information, the skimpy information on the White House bomber, and Al and Sam's proximity to all this in a clinical, professional tone, but knew that her internal turmoil was visible in her eyes. He was so close, but so far. And other than Beeks, she told them no one else was to know this information, including Sam, Al and Beth, until Ziggy could narrow in on Sam's mission.  
  
They all nodded in agreement as Sammy Jo readied herself for the Imaging Chamber.  
  
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~  
  
Sam had about as much 'fun' as he could handle on this leap, and wiped the sweat from his forehead as he grumbled once again about the lateness of his Observer. He'd better have a good excuse, Sam thought as he readied another tear gas canister for launch. The only good thing about all this was that at least he wasn't on the receiving end of the gas!  
  
Chuck, his partner in applying this torture, was grinning ear to ear. He'd thrown twice as many canisters as Sam, yelling "Geronimo!" each time and cackling like a crazed man. Sam had to admire him for his enthusiasm.  
  
"OK, now let's try to get them to split up. You stay here, I'll go over there," Chuck pointed north. "If they do split up, let's see if we can get 'em to shoot each other!" He smiled with glee.  
  
Sam hesitantly smiled back, "OK, sounds like a plan, I guess. Go."  
  
No sooner had Chuck departed than Sam heard the welcome sound of the Imaging Chamber door. He dropped his head momentarily in relief, then threw the canister towards the unsuspecting team crawling through the brush below. Then he spun towards the noise, ready to chastise his friend for his lateness. The words stalled on his tongue when he saw a woman step through the portal.  
  
He was speechless for a few seconds, trying to dredge up a memory about her. She was familiar; he knew she was connected to the Project somehow. But her name escaped him for a few seconds.  
  
"Dr. Beckett," she smiled, a hopeful thought crossing her mind. Would he remember her as his daughter?  
  
"Ah...Doctor...um," his forehead creased. "Fuller, right? Is that right?"  
  
She nodded, her face carefully neutral as she disguised her disappointment. Instead, she smiled. "Right." She looked around. "Where are we?"  
  
Sam glanced at the cursing in the brush below him as the gas he'd administered spread to its target. "Er...training. Actually, gassing a bunch of students."  
  
Sammy Jo looked a bit confused, but nodded. "OK, that fits, I guess."  
  
"Where's Al?" Sam asked, trying to seem curious and not demanding.  
  
"He's on a budgeting assignment." She shrugged. "It happens at the worst times, as you know! Ha, ha." She regarded the link to distract Sam from that train of thought. "Well, the Visitor did say he was an instructor."  
  
"So why am I here? I haven't got a clue, and I've been here for hours. What's Ziggy say?"  
  
Just then they heard and enthusiastic "Geronimo!!" from across the narrow valley, the hissing of a canister releasing its fog, and scrambling noises from the bottom of the rift. Sam ignored it and held Sammy Jo's eyes.  
  
"Ah, well, we think that..." Sammy Jo was interrupted by the sound of a pager.  
  
Sam looked at her blankly, then realized it was coming from his own pocket. He fumbled and recovered the device, which continued to beep in his hand.  
  
"Actually, that's probably why you're here," the pointed at the pager. "There's a negotiation team being assembled for a barricaded suspect with a hostage."  
  
Punching buttons until the object ceased beeping, Sam read '10-89 CP Constitution and Third' on the tiny message window. He read it out loud. "What does that mean?" he asked her  
  
She punched in the information. "10-89 is code for bomb threat. CP, hmmm. Ziggy says that means Command Post. The streets are the location of the Command Post."  
  
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Chuck came crashing through the brush. "That's us, pard. I guess these guys lucked out." He put his hands around his mouth. "CLASS DISMISSED!" he bellowed. Several heads appeared in the brush below. "CHECK THE NEWS TO SEE IF THERE'S CLASS TOMORROW!" Then he turned and grinned at Sam. "Saddle up!" and he was off towards the car.  
  
Sammy Jo looked after him with her mouth hanging open, which made Sam smile. "He's a little over enthusiastic. Come on, follow me." He started down to the mini Hollywood town. "So, what happens? What am I supposed to do?"  
  
Sammy Jo was grateful that Dr. Beckett had to concentrate on making his way thorough the brush, distracting him from her. What should she tell him? Since it was practically present time, they had no idea what was going to happen, either, but she couldn't let him know that. He obviously didn't know the date, being out here in the boonies, and she hoped it would stay that way.  
  
"Ziggy's not sure," she hedged. "She hasn't checked on all the involved parties yet."  
  
She could tell by the way Sam's neck stiffened that he was upset. "What?" he breathed, continuing his hike down the narrow path, swatting brush out of his way. "She's had a couple of hours! What's her problem? And don't tell me she's pouting."  
  
"Good question! We've had a problem with the, ah, you know. The interface junctions. It seems there's so much information, that she's having trouble figuring out what pertains to you." Talk about double speak, she thought, frantically tapping the link. "I'll get back to you on the details." The door opened behind her and she happily stepped back through the doorway. Sam just had time to free himself from a spiky branch, spin around in disbelief, and watch her go.  
  
"Hey!" was all she heard.  
  
Sam stood there and watched the door shut. He had no more information now than before she arrived! He didn't even know if the bomb was real, or ever exploded, or anything! Acting on his gut instinct was something he did naturally, and he knew he'd probably do all right, but the way Dr. Fuller had acted was weird. What was going on, and where was Al, exactly?  
  
He pondered those thoughts, as well as others relating to hostage negotiations as he finally emerged from the brush and headed to his car, right behind Chuck.  
  
Project Quantum Leap  
  
March 15, 2000  
  
Sammy Jo emerged from the Imaging Chamber a bit shaken. She hadn't liked lying to Dr. Beckett, and felt like a rat leaving like that, but she'd found out what they needed to know; Sam wasn't aware of the exact time he had leaped into. Not yet, anyway. That was sure to change once he got to the scene of the incident. She had almost let the fact that they didn't know what was going to happen slip out. Everything she said had to be carefully worded, and that hadn't been an easy job, and she hoped Al would get here before Sam realized where he was. She didn't want to handle that at all.  
  
"He doesn't know," she said to Dr. Elesee, Tina and Gooshie as she dropped off the hand link. "Now what?"  
  
"Well," Dr. Elesee started.  
  
"Dr. Elesee," Ziggy crooned abruptly.  
  
"Yes, Ziggy?"  
  
There was a slight pause. "There's a problem at the incident scene. The police tactical radios are reporting that there is a secondary hostage situation, and they now believe the White House bomber was just a diversionary tactic." She sighed.  
  
They all looked at each other, knowing instinctively that this was about to get a lot more complicated.  
  
"Where's the secondary situation located?" Dr. Elesee asked, dreading the response.  
  
"It appears that the Senate subway that runs from the Russell Senate Office Building to the Capitol Building has been seized by unknown terrorists. I don't think Admiral Calavicci will be making it back soon."  
  
Dr. Elesee's stomach sank, and she placed her hand on her chest to settle her heart, and closed her eyes.  
  
"Oh, no," Sammy Jo whispered, covering her mouth.  
  
Gooshie and Tina simply stood with their mouths open. There were several seconds of shocked silence.  
  
Dr. Elesee took a deep breath. "OK. We have to decide what we need to do. We can't tell Sam." Her voice cracked slightly, but she continued to regain her composure. "He'll focus too much on Al, and we don't know if that's why he's there. Ziggy, what's your probabilities on scenarios?" She paced, studying the floor as they listened to the computer's response.  
  
"That Dr. Beckett is there to save the White House from being bombed, 35.67%; to take the bombing suspect alive; 17.21%; dead, 42.87%; to negotiate a release of the subway hostages, 72.44%; to allow the hostages to escape, 85.59%. Those are all the scenarios I can calculate with the information I have."  
  
"What more information do you need?" Gooshie asked.  
  
"Well," the computer sniffed. "Who exactly these terrorists are would help. And who, exactly, are the hostages, as well as the training and experience of both the negotiators, the terrorists and the hostages. I can only work with what I have, you know."  
  
"Yes, Ziggy, we know. But you're the only one who can find all that out in a timely manner right now. Let us know what you find?" Dr. Elesee was starting to feel helpless about this whole leap. "I've got to update Verbena. The Visitor is the only source of information we can get our hands on now. We can't go to Sam yet, not until we have something that can help him. Sammy Jo, don't go far," she flashed a weak smile. "I think this leap is going to keep us on all our toes. Poor Beth; I hope she's all right." The others nodded solemnly. "Ziggy, could you continuous feed the news channels to the screens?"  
  
"Yes, Dr. Elesee. And I'm sorry about Admiral Calavicci. I'm quite fond of him, you know."  
  
They all grinned slightly as the moved off to get busy.  
  
"Yeah, we know," Dr. Elesee responded. "We know."  
  
Senate Airport  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Beth was glued to the small television screen when she saw the news flash, and all the feelings that she'd had when Al had been reported as Missing in Action in Vietnam came crashing down on her again. She collapsed on a chair in the small terminal, and the host came rushing over.  
  
"You OK, lady? You're white as a sheet!" He helped her get settled.  
  
"My husband. He's in that subway," she whispered, dreading that she had to tell her daughters and the Project staff. "I have to make some phone calls." Her hands shook so badly she had to punch in the first phone number several times before she got it. "I need to get to the scene when I'm through." She turned her beautiful, brown eyes, shiny with unshed tears, on the host. "Can you figure out how I can get there, please?"  
  
He couldn't refuse. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, giving her shoulder a pat. "Don't give it a second thought. I'll drive you there myself if I have to." And he scurried off. 


	4. Part Four

HOSTILE TAKEOVER  
By AJ Squaredaway  
  
PART FOUR  
  
I had a gut instinct that something about this leap wasn't right. Al was missing, the stand-in Observer, Dr. Fuller, had given me nothing the one time I'd seen her, and I'd been here for hours and was still without a clue as to why I was here. My gut instinct told me that this incident I was responding to was my reason for leaping here, whenever this was. I felt so unprepared for what lay ahead; I was glad I had at least perused the 'Elements of Hostage Negotiations' notebook in Chuck's car. Thanks to my photographic memory, I at least had some of the jargon available and the organizational chart in my head. I just hoped I wasn't the one listed at the top of the chart as the 'Incident Commander'; that sounded more like Al's place. I could only hope I'd see him soon.   
  
Sam kept as close to Chuck as he could, but Chuck was as enthusiastic about driving as he was about teaching. They pastoral surroundings gave way quickly to city streets, and Sam finally saw a city he remembered: Arlington. He knew they were in the beltway of Washington DC at that point. Chuck had one of those detachable red 'bubble lights' on his dashboard, as well as a siren, and broke every driving rule in the book to get to the Command Post. Sam wasn't sure he could pry his own knuckles from the steering wheel when Chuck finally parked.  
  
Chaos reigned the streets where they stopped. Cars were everywhere, and everyone in sight had a uniform, badge, gun, or bulletproof vest over their clothes, or any combination of those items. Sam had tried to listen to the police radio, but it was all gibberish to him; too many codes, too many voices. He didn't even have a car radio to listen to the news.  
  
Chuck had pulled over a curb and slammed on his brakes on a patch of grass not meant to be a parking lot. He was completely professional as he got out, donned his fatigues and vest, and clipped his badge to his belt. Sam followed suit, always feeling like he was playing catch-up with the big man. He also couldn't help but noticed the large number of officers that respectfully acknowledged them. Sam hoped he wouldn't damage Sgt. Takeshta's reputation.  
  
They strode off together towards a large, white bus bedecked with antennas and satellite dishes in the distance. They had parked as close as they could get in all this mess. Sam saw a large contingent of military men patrolling the area; he couldn't see the White House yet, but could tell the direction it was in by the increasing numbers of soldiers. Nervously, Sam licked his lips and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. He sure could use some help, here; the closer he got to the Command Post, the less sure he was about pulling this off.  
  
When they arrived at the bus, there was little backslapping and hearty greeting; everyone knew the bleakness of the situation. When their number reached about a dozen, a man with great command presence raised his hand and they were all quiet. The only noise he couldn't control was the 'whup-whup' of the helicopters overhead, distant sirens and muted police radios.  
  
"OK, troops, I'm your Incident Commander, Captain Burroughs."  
  
Sam let out a big sigh, and relaxed slightly.  
  
"I'm passing out a sketch of the area, and the blocked off streets. We have commandeered the lobby of that building behind you," everyone turned and noted the office building, "and it will be the Command Post. I've penciled in some unit leaders at the bottom. If your name is listed, follow me to the lobby now. The rest of you stay here until you're called to your particular unit. There's no big surprises here, folks. I'm not taking this time for training, so you will all be in familiar units."  
  
'Yeah, right,' Sam groaned to himself. He looked at the paper and wasn't surprised to see Takeshta's name written on the bottom. He whispered softly to the heavens, "Al, where are you??"  
  
The lobby of the Command Post was a busy place. Tables were being set up around the perimeter, and loaded with equipment. Captain Burroughs herded them to the quietest corner. "OK," he started. "Most of you probably got the low-down on your radios on the way over, but I'll go over it again to clarify our part in this.  
  
"Since we paged you, another situation has arisen, and the first thing we have to do is verify a connection. At approximately 1425 hours, a dark skinned male believed to be of Iranian descent drove up to the northeast White House guard shack in a white panel truck, and took the two guards there hostage. He claims the truck is loaded with explosives. He appears calm and in no hurry at all, and had duct-taped the guards' hands and feet. They are still in the guard shack, and the suspect is sitting in the truck. As a result, Level 1 security measures were enacted with shut down all access to the White House, the Capitol Building and all the Senate and House office buildings. This includes the underground trolley that runs between the Capitol Building and office buildings.  
  
"At approximately 1500 hours, word came me that the Senate trolley line, which is underground, has also been seized by an unknown number of suspects in the section that connects from the Senate Building to the Russell Senate Office Building. I have that area noted on your maps.  
  
"We believe that the first event was a diversion for the second event, allowing the armed suspects to move about freely in public, armed to the teeth, so to speak. There have been no demands made yet."  
  
He paused to allow the group to chat amongst themselves for a few minutes. Sam was shocked at the news, and tried to absorb what he could from the people around him. Chuck was very animated in his discussion, and Sam tried to hear every word. Sam saw the Captain consult with another man, who handed him a paper, then he motioned for silence.  
  
"OK, here's the line up: Incident Commander, me. Negotiation Supervisor: Chuck Crossman." Chuck raised his hand so everyone could see him. "Tactical Supervisor, Bob McMartin." A man near Chuck raised his hand. "Primary Negotiator," Sam felt butterflies in his stomach. "Tom Williams." Sam sighed. "Secondary Negotiator, Sandy Allen."  
  
A short haired woman yelped, "Here!" and everyone laughed briefly.  
  
Burroughs continued, "Dr. Carlson is here for Mental Health and brought his team, and Communications Center Lieutenant Axall will head up Support, and the Intelligence Officer will be, of course, Sergeant Takeshta."  
  
Sam didn't say anything, but many heads turned his way. He felt himself blush, and tried to find his position on the chain of command diagram in his head. He was pleased to find he was in the third row from the top, and exhaled gratefully.  
  
"Refer all press inquires to Lieutenant Dann; No press inside the inner perimeter on you maps, and I want updates in one-half hour. If you have any questions, ask me now. Dismissed."  
  
Project Quantum Leap  
  
They all watched the scenario unfold before them on the television screens, narrated by Ziggy as she relayed the police radio traffic. Everyone felt helpless and useless.  
  
Donna's mind was flying beneath her calm façade. 'How can we help Sam?' she thought. 'What can we give him that he can use?' Finally, a thought occurred to her. "Ziggy, ask Dr. Beeks if our Visitor is usually assigned to a particular position on the negotiation team, and what that job entails. Maybe we can do Sam's work for him."  
  
There was a slight pause before Ziggy replied. "I've already researched Mr. Takeshta's records and have deduced a pattern. There is a 95.22% probability that Dr. Beckett will be the Intelligence Officer. The Intelligence Officer gathers and assembles all background and information on both the hostages and hostiles. The information is used to bargain with, and to determine who will be the strong and weak links in the hostages. As they say, there can never be enough information."  
  
"True," Donna smiled. "I also assume Sam will have his own computer terminal at the Command Post?" she inquired further.  
  
At this question, all heads raised and faced her, realizing what she was building up to.  
  
"Yes. That assumption is correct."  
  
Donna burst into a huge smile. Finally! Some way to help! "OK, Ziggy, we're going to be Dr. Beckett's own, personal information source. We get the radio traffic a few minutes ahead of Sam, so let's gather our list. Tap all sources. I know the Senate office buildings have cameras all over the place, so let's review those from the subway platform. We need names and backgrounds on all of the hostages, including the guards at the guardhouse. Check the license on the box truck. We need to find out who the terrorists are. Any ideas, anyone?"  
  
"If I had fingerprints I could check Interpol and all other fingerprint data bases," Ziggy suggested.  
  
Gooshie's frowning face was replaced with a bright expression. "I can refigure the hand link to project a light that can enhance a print. The Observer just needs to shine it on a print we know to be one of the terrorist's."  
  
"Do it," Donna said, starting to pace. "Sammy Jo, get ready to center on Al and check that out. Ziggy, find Dr. Beckett's station at the Command Post and hack into his line only. We're going to be his sole source of information. And be sure to delete any references to Al for now. He can't get focused on one person. We need to make this as easy as possible for him."  
  
"Nothing about this leap has been easy so far," Tina quipped as her fingers flew over the console.  
  
"Tell me about it," Donna mumbled in response.  
  
PART FIVE  
  
Sam got swept up in the hustle of setting up stations at the command posts. Computers! Something he knew something about! Although it was simple work, and didn't recognize some of the components he was working with, he figured everything out and savored the time. He'd already had a half dozen investigators report to him and he sent them out on fact-finding missions. The job of Intelligence was collecting information; he felt he could do that, especially with such a good team that worked with little supervision. His scribe, a pinch-faced man called Scanlon, recorded everything for him instantly, and gave him updates regularly, and even had a report ready for Sam to give the Commander at the requested time.  
  
'This is almost too easy,' he thought. That idea made him especially cautious, and he looked carefully around him as he worked. Still nothing stood out for his attention, and he went back to his setting up.  
  
Finally, he was able to sit at the computer station and fire it up. Scanlon placed a list of stations and their network locations next to Sam. As soon as he logged in, information started rolling in.  
  
Scanlon gave the screen a double take. "Wow! Dispatch sure is on the ball today, Sergeant. But then again, with a high profile incident like this I guess they have to be."  
  
"Yeah," Sam agreed. He was just sorting through the list of known hostages when a man in fatigues walked over, a hand held radio on his ear.  
  
"Sir? The tactical field team is ready to feed the camera into the subway. The rest of your team is in the field, so they want to confirm that you'll be there."  
  
Sam blinked for a second, having no idea what that meant. "Yeah, sure. Now?"  
  
"Yes sir. I'll take you there." The man confirmed the information on the radio, the slipped it in his holder. "Let's go."  
  
Sam glanced at Scanlon. "Cover for me here, OK?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
As they walked out to the bustle of the outside, camera flashes went off by the dozens. Reports, held in a certain area outside, had erected scaffolds and platforms by the score. Vans with satellite dishes were everywhere. Questions were being thrown at him, dozens at a time, and he couldn't hear any one of them clearly. Sam's escort had ducked his head and grabbed Sam's arm. "This way," he said.  
  
They left the demanding reports behind as they weaved their way between cars, using them as cover at the same time. Soon they were at an intersection that was cordoned off with bright yellow tape that said "Do Not Cross - Police Line". Sam saw a group of heavily armored men grouped together over a manhole cover.  
  
Sam's escort briefed him. "We figured out that some of the suspects got access to the subway tunnel via the sewer. We found an abandoned catering truck down the road, stopped right over the top of one of the manholes. They staged a vehicle breakdown, and all the while were going through a trapdoor in the bottom of the truck into the maintenance tunnels. From there, getting to the subway tunnel was just like running a maze.  
  
"We used sound equipment to pinpoint where the people are gathered, and are making a hole to insert the fiber-optic camera. Should be able to monitor what's happening, and get a good list as to exactly who's down there for you. We have a feed set up to go to your station and the head negotiator's station. We need you to approve the camera placement, but I think it's the best location we'll get."  
  
"OK," Sam acknowledged. When the reached the manhole, the agents stood back and let them by. Sam carefully went down the ladder into the dark, dank cavern, followed closely by his escort. It was wet down there, and Sam's shoes were soon squishy with liquid. He tried not to think about what he was walking in as he trotted after his guide, passing heavily armed stationed at each intersection of tunnels. The smell didn't help, either.  
  
They'd twisted through a few turns and passed under an open manhole above them. "This is where they came in. The truck's right up there," his guide stated as the cruised by.  
  
Soon they met up with a cluster of five other men who were unraveling what looked like cable lines. One man had a small video screen in front of him which showed shades of grey and black lines. The man motioned Sam over.  
  
"OK, we're running the camera around the various pipes hanging above the subway cars. It's a good thing those cars have open sides, or we probably wouldn't be able to see inside. A lot of the tunnel lighting is out."  
  
Sam wasn't sure if he was making sense of what he saw, or his imagination was taking over. Eventually he was able to figure out what he was looking at. The tunnel had pipes running the length of the ceiling, and Sam could see the seats in the cars with a bird's eye view. The first two cars he saw were empty, but there was movement in the car coming up. Identifying anybody from the tops of their heads wasn't going to be easy, but if they could drop the cable down, maybe the darkness would conceal its presence.  
  
The technician seemed to read Sam's mind, and the view on the monitor gradually changed to more of a profile image. "That's the last car, sir. The hostages are being held in one spot, it seems. There could be more of them further down the tunnel. I count three armed suspects so far," he touched the screen and Sam noted the masks and rifles. "And let's see...at least eleven hostages." He adjusted some dials, which affected the focus. "I recognize two Senators, at least. Four women. Hmmm..and I think one guy's in uniform."  
  
Sam squinted at the screen. It was drifting in and out of focus as he studied it, but saw the dark patch pointed out by the agent. Everyone was sitting on the seats, but this guy standing with his back to the camera, his arms held out to his sides. The agent said it looked like a Navy Officer dress blues uniform, and by the way his arms were moving, looked like he was talking to one of the masked men standing just a foot or two in front of him. They watched as a fourth masked man stepped up from the darkness, his mouth working furiously under the mask. The Navy man did not back down. The agent gasped when the masked man suddenly raised the butt of his rifle and jabbed the Navy man in the chest, sending him flying backwards towards the camera. He landed on the floor, out of the camera's field of vision.  
  
"Whoa, that had to hurt! I hope he doesn't antagonize the suspects any further," the agent commented, furiously working the dials.  
  
Sam was transfixed by what he saw on the screen. All those innocent people! And where was the Observer to tell him what happens?  
  
"Is this view OK for you guys up there, or do we need to run the cable to the other side of this group? We run the chance of the fiber being detected if I try to keep going over their heads, but it could give us an idea of who is in the tunnel ahead."  
  
"No, no," Sam said distractedly. "This will do. Go ahead and run it to the Command Post." He stared at the monitor, watching the uniformed man slowly stand and brush himself off. His back was still to the camera, and the suspect that had pushed him was pointing at him, his mouth still working under the mask. Then he sharply raised the rifle to the level of the Officer's head, and Sam saw the hostage slowly put his hands behind his head.  
  
"Oh, oh. This doesn't look to good," an agent whispered.  
  
They all watched as the Navy Officer slowly turned towards the camera. He stood straight, chin up and jaw set, not showing any fear. His expression was one of defiance, the fire in his eyes clear even in the poor lighting.  
  
Sam felt his heart leap up into his throat and he instantly broke out into a cold sweat as he watched his friend and Observer prepare himself to die. 


	5. Part Five

HOSTILE TAKEOVER  
  
BY AJ Squaredaway  
  
PART FIVE  
  
March 15, 2000  
  
Washington DC  
  
Al stood stiffly, his back to the masked men and steeled himself. He said his good-byes silently and quickly - Beth, each of his daughters, and of course Sam and everyone at the Project. Maybe Sam will come back and change this some day, he thought as he laced his fingers behind his head as ordered. He was surprised at the thought, then chastised himself. Why should that thought surprise me?  
  
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he felt a burning spot where he figured the bullet would enter his head. Involuntarily, he held his breath, and that horrific picture of the Vietnamese man being executed with a pistol flew through his head. Stop it! He told himself, standing straighter. He closed his eyes and thought instead: All those years in the Navy, at sea and in the air and here I am dying underground. Whoda thunk. Sweat rolled down between his eyes. When several seconds passed without the expected explosion, he opened his eyes and realized the two men behind him were arguing. He cocked an eyebrow. Somethin's up, he thought with a slight grin, and his gut told him he was safe for now. Al was very familiar with the expected behavior of a captive; his Vietnam experience was a painful reminder, so he didn't move a muscle.  
  
As the seconds ticked by, Al replayed his previous actions in his mind. Trying to keep a calm demeanor, he'd requested that the women be released in a show of good faith. All he could see of the tall man he addressed were his eyes and lips. Al had seen a flash of something in the man's eyes. Was it surprise? The emotion was quickly squelched, but something had gone on. Al couldn't fathom what that was about.  
  
The resulting actions from his request had told him three things. First, they spoke a Middle Eastern dialect; second, the painful stab at his chest accented the fact they weren't in the mood to bargain; and third, at least one of them had a hot temper. It had been tough to keep up the passive front, and was almost glad to turn his back on his captors when the rifle was aimed at him and he was ordered to turn around. At least they couldn't see the rage he knew showed in his eyes at the time. He refused to believe they would shoot him, but he found himself holding his breath just the same and focused his thoughts on Beth and his family.  
  
The heated debate between his captors stopped and became a long, nerve-wracking stretch of silence. He felt his wallet get plucked from his back pocket, and was shoved unceremoniously to the side and commanded to be silent. He took a seat and slowly let out his breath as the captors made the rounds collecting identification from each hostage, and patting everyone down for weapons. Mentally, he took stock of any possible weapons at hand, made a roster of hostages in his head, and readied himself for the duration. The two masked men that had argued were replaced by two clones, and disappeared in the darkness of the tunnel. Al wondered where they were going and how extensive their network was down here. And the idea that the tall man may have recognized him was unnerving.  
  
He resolved to keep his eyes open and try to save everyone's butts.  
  
******************  
  
There was a collective sigh around Sam as they watched the drama unfold on the tiny screen. The fiber optic camera gave everything a weird, fish-eye bend that just added to the surreal feeling of the whole situation. He felt weak in the knees for a few moments when he finally realized his friend was given a reprieve.  
  
"I'll connect this up to the CP, OK, sir?" The agent asked as he fiddled with the wires.  
  
Slightly dazed, Sam realized he was being spoken to. "Yeah, do that." He turned to the guide that had brought him down here, now determined to find out who these people were and help his friend. "Let's go," he snapped. The guide nodded and left at a brisk pace with Sam close behind.  
  
Sam's mind was whirling with thoughts, none of them ending happily for Al. This was complicated, and he wondered if he was able to handle it. When he popped his head out to the light of day, his face was etched with grim determination to save his friend. When he saw Dr. Fuller waiting for him behind some parked cars, he waved off his escort and headed straight for her.  
  
"Al is in there! Is that why he's not here? What happens on this leap? Does he die?" Sam's voice shook at the very thought. "I'm here to save him, aren't I?"  
  
Sammie Jo tried to keep a calm appearance although her heart was beating like crazy. That's the very thing she'd like to tell him, but there were other potential victims out there, too. "Dr. Beckett, you can't focus on just the Admiral. That's why we didn't tell you about him in the beginning. And I can't tell you what happens here, either. The Admiral's presence really muddies the waters, and we can't take any chances. You can't narrow your focus!"  
  
Sam's eyes were burning with anger. "So that's why he's not here? So he won't influence me one way or the other, then? Or is he dead?"  
  
She kept her emotions in check, and did not back down. She locked eyes with her father, and realized how much her eyes resembled his. Softening her stance only slightly, she said with finality, "I can't tell you. Your rules." She raised the link to call up the Imaging Chamber door but stopped herself from a coward's retreat.  
  
Acting out of frustration, Sam reached out to grab her arm to stop her. As his hands passed through her, he realized the futileness of the motion. He raised his hands and shook his fists in the air as he turned his back on her. He took a few deep breaths, and paced. Slowly, he began to calm down. Sammie Jo looked on in silence, feeling completely useless. She couldn't deny him his anger, and stood quietly until he was ready to speak.  
  
"OK, OK," he said to himself as he paced a small circle, finally stopping in front of the hologram once again. He ran his hands through his hair in a motion of resignation, calming his thoughts. Raising his head, he caught her eyes. For a second, a feeling of deja-vu overcame him when he saw her expression, confusing him momentarily. He got the feeling that there was more to Dr. Fuller than met the eye, but shook off the thought in order to concentrate on the present situation. Well, the present for him, that is. Or was. He sighed.  
  
"Ziggy's being tight about information." Sammie Jo lied. "So there's not much about the bomb we can tell you. She says your arrival has already changed things and she refuses to speculate. I'll see what I can coerce out of her." This lying was getting to be too easy, and it made her uneasy. "I'll check back with you later. Be careful."  
  
Sam saw shift in her eyes and the thought that she was lying crossed his mind. He immediately pushed the thought aside, refusing to believe it. "Tell Al 'hi' for me, OK?" He casually said instead.  
  
She smiled softly. "Good try, Dr. Beckett." Then she tapped on the handlink and disappeared, relocating herself in the Senate subway.  
  
***************************  
  
Sammie Jo blinked at the abrupt change from daylight to dark, and stood still until her eyes adjusted. She could hear the mumbling and movements of people around her, and finally was able to make out the dark forms in the shadows of the tunnel. The tram had feeble interior lights, and it gave the impression that the captives were players on a lighted stage with Sammie Jo watching from the audience.  
  
She was here to get fingerprints. Gooshie had rigged the handlink to act as a scanner and all she had to do was find something that the terrorists had touched. She didn't want to get too close, because she knew that Al could see her, and didn't want to surprise him or get him in any more trouble. Squinting in the poor lighting, she saw the Admiral seated on a rear bench among other men. The women had been separated and placed on the opposite side of the car, and she counted a dozen captives in all. She toyed with the idea of contacting Al. He should be able to see her, since her DNA was related to Dr. Beckett's, but she decided to hold off. He didn't need any attention drawn to him right now.  
  
It was difficult to stay out of Al's sight, but she just had to make sure he was all right. She could see the anger in his profile, but he looked undamaged, so she backed off into the darkness again, and wandered down the tunnel. It wasn't easy to figure out who the leader was; they were all dressed so similarly that it took her awhile to keep them straight. She walked deeper into the tunnel and found a cluster of about eight of them listening intently to a tall man. This far down the tunnel they were out of sight of the hostages, so they had pushed their masks up and off their faces. Sammie Jo perked up and asked if the link could scan faces too. Ziggy replied with an affirmative.  
  
The hologram quickly moved around the circle scanning faces, but was only able to get about four of them including the tall man before the circle broke up. She decided he was a leader by the way he gave directions and dispatched the men. Then he grabbed a metal pipe on the wall to balance himself as he stepped over an obstacle in the darkness. "Gotcha!" Sammie Jo whispered as she aimed the handlink beam at the pipe. She worked it around at different angles, and Ziggy squealed when an adequate print was photographed. "Mission accomplished," she whispered. She made a mental count of how many terrorists she had seen, then after checking that she was out of sight of the tram cars, she called for the Imaging Chamber door. 


	6. Part Six

HOSTILE TAKEOVER  
  
BY AJ Squaredaway  
  
PART SIX  
  
When Dr. Fuller left, Sam started back to the Command Post, his mind racing. How could he get down there? What was he here to do? What should he do next? His whirling mind skipped a beat when he overheard a woman's voice pleading with someone. Something about the voice made him stop and scan the crowd gathered behind the police line. Eventually he saw a dark haired woman talking briskly with one of the burly sentries. Sam sucked in his breath and held it for a moment. He knew her!  
  
As he racked his brain trying to recall her name, she glanced in his direction and saw him staring at her. She tried to smile, but the weird mix of anger and panic had taken control of her expression. Then it hit him: It was Beth!  
  
Without a second thought he strode over to the line and took her elbow. Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "I authorize her entry," Sam ordered the sentry, and he stepped aside. Beth gratefully passed the line and walked close to Sam's side. He could feel her shaking.  
  
"Do I know you?" She asked, studying his profile.  
  
"Uh, no," Sam stuttered. "I'm the Intelligence Officer. You're Mrs. Calavicci, aren't you? I, ah, saw your picture in my research." That sounded believable.  
  
"Oh, yes, of course." She was trying to be cordial, but her voice was quivering. "Al..I mean, the Admiral's all right isn't he? Have you seen him?" Her grip tightened, the shaking gone.  
  
"I just saw him; well, I saw live pictures of him, and he's fine." Sam was wondering now how he was going to explain her presence in the Command Post. "Ah, I thought you may help us with some names. Are you up to it?"  
  
Beth's jaw set and she stood a little straighter. "You bet I am," she said determinedly. Her resolve made Sam grin.  
  
He led her to his station where the fiber optic feed was now showing on his computer screen. "It's kinda dark, but let your eyes adjust. We counted about a dozen hostages, and have figured out the Senators and Al .. I mean, your husband. Do you recognize anyone else?" As she studied the screen, Sam started having second thoughts about having her here. What was the point? So she could watch him get tortured? Maybe die? Then Sam had to finally admit that she was here for purely selfish reasons. She was as close as he was going to get to home right now. She was like a lifeline that he wanted to keep close, and didn't want to let go and those thoughts started to make him uncomfortable. This probably wasn't a good idea, but he wasn't moving to send her away, either. He made a promise to himself that if her well being became threatened, he would send her away to safety.  
  
"There," she said pointing to a hunched over man. "That's Avery, Weitzman's aide. The woman behind him is a clerk in the office...let's see..Cindy? I think that's it."  
  
Sam compared the names to his list, and brought up their personnel files. The pictures matched. "Halfway there," Sam mused. Six more hostages to identify.  
  
The sound of the Imaging Chamber door made him jump. He rolled his eyes in the direction of Dr. Fuller and caught the complete surprise on her face when she saw Beth. Her gaping and protests reminded him of Al, and he suppressed a smirk.  
  
"What's she doing here? Don't you think that's a bit risky?! You haven't told her, have you?!" Dr. Fuller was practically prancing in place. Then something dawned on her, and she frowned suspiciously. "Do you even know who she is?" She asked quietly.  
  
He frowned at her and shook his head, then stepped aside to pick up a phone to use as a prop. Beth didn't notice his shift in position, and Sam stepped out of her hearing zone.  
  
"Yes. It's Beth Calavicci, isn't it? And no, I didn't tell her," he whispered.  
  
"What's she doing here?!" The hologram repeated, the handlink squealing in protest.  
  
Sam set his chin. "I thought she could help."  
  
Dr. Fuller's eyes narrowed. He wasn't fooling her.  
  
"OK, OK. It felt like the right thing to do, OK? What are you gonna do about it, anyway? You're not even here!"  
  
Dr. Fuller sputtered and Ziggy squealed, and Sam simply stood fast and glared at them, unmoved. Finally, they gave up. "Fine. But you need to resist all temptation, Dr. Beckett! No cryptic messages or stuff like that, OK?"  
  
Sam looked hurt. "Would I do that?" He said innocently. Her scowl was his answer. "Fine. No messages. Now why are you here? To give me more non-information?"  
  
Now it was Sammie Jo's turn to look hurt. "Of course not! We have some good stuff here. Got some names for you. Fastid Hazzim, Rahstem G'hard and Alexander Moussad. Ziggy's hacking into some overseas system that has their records...hang on...they don't have work visas. No big surprise there. Hey! Moussad is an army pilot!" Sammie Jo's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Well, this is weird. He trained here in the US in the mid-seventies, squadron VT-10 in Pensacola."  
  
"VT-10?" He repeated, not expecting the reaction he got from Beth.  
  
Her head snapped up. "Squadron VT-10? In Pensacola?" Her eyes were wide with wonder.  
  
Sam stared at her, not believing what he just heard. "You know it?" He asked.  
  
"Sure. Al was their Commanding Officer in the seventies...let's see..it was in 1975. He got enough stick time there to qualify for the astronaut program. He loved it."  
  
Sam could see Sammie Jo staring at her, too. " 'Stick time?' " They said together.  
  
Beth grinned. "Oh, yeah. You're a civilian...stick time...flight time in a jet. You know? The joystick??"  
  
"Oh!" They replied in unison, the term suddenly clear.  
  
She laughed lightly. "He loved that duty. He said it was his job to try and make the trainees in the back sick..." She hesitated as her voice cracked on the last word.  
  
Sam, noting her distress, asked quietly, "Did he train pilots for the Iranian Air Force?"  
  
"Sometimes. But mostly he was there to train the second-seaters. The Navigators and the Radar Officers in the back." Her voice was soft as she returned her attention to the screen. Sam saw her touch it lightly with her fingertips. "How is that connected to this?"  
  
Sam looked at Dr. Fuller, who then returned to poking the handlink. "Oh, oh. That checks out, all right. Al trained him in '75. I wonder if that's merely a coincidence?"  
  
"I don't believe in coincidence," Sam grumbled.  
  
"Hey! I don't believe this!" Sammie Jo couldn't help but smack the handlink to try and get it to speed up. "This is incredible!"  
  
"What?" Sam replied after he made his heart settle down from her outburst.  
  
"Ziggy has accessed Moussad's complete flying history with the Iranian Air Force. It seems that he was in the area of the USS Vincennes on July 3, 1988." She sounded angry. "So the Captain was right after all!"  
  
"What?" Sam growled through clenched teeth. He had no idea what she was talking about.  
  
"So you don't remember ...oh, sorry. Swiss cheese, huh?" She ignored his glare and continued. "On July 3, 1988, while on patrol in the Persian Gulf, the Captain of the USS Vincennes reported picking up the transponder code of an Iranian F-14. He tried all he could to confirm, but the jet didn't respond, so he felt he was under attack, and shot it down. The problem was, he shot down a civilian Airbus and killed everyone aboard. All civilians."  
  
The shock on Sam's face was clear.  
  
Sammie Jo continued. "But these records show Moussad was flying in the area! So the Captain was right all along! He did read a Fighter transponder, and all those people died because of that jerk in there!" She pointed to the screen. "I wish we could release this for the Vincennes Captain. He really suffered." She sighed.  
  
"Why can't you release it?" Sam demanded.  
  
Dr. Fuller patiently replied, "Because how are we, as a secret project, going to answer where we got it? Our computer hacked your computer? Sorry, Dr. Beckett. No can do."  
  
"Release what?" Beth's soft voice sounded concerned. "Something about Al?"  
  
Sam covered his anger and faced her. "It looks like your husband trained one of the terrorists as a pilot in '75. I guess we don't want to release that fact."  
  
"Oh! Really? That's weird, huh?" She looked perplexed. "Do you think it's connected?"  
  
Sam's mind was spinning, trying to make a connection. What if it was? What does that mean to Al? Was this coincidence, or did they plan to get him? He didn't like it when a leap had more questions than answers this far in the game. Then suddenly another question sprung into his brain, and he snapped his head around to face the hologram.  
  
"Why is it that you just found that out?" He pointedly asked Dr. Fuller. "Didn't you have all this from the original history? I understand the part about Ziggy getting that classified stuff, but didn't you have any of the terrorist's identification from the original history?"  
  
Sammie Jo froze. "Well," she started. "Well, they, ah, got away before."  
  
Sam knew she was lying as she beat a hasty retreat through the Imaging Chamber door, trying to escape Sam's questions. The only thing that stopped her was the gasp of terror that escaped Beth's lips.  
  
"They're taking him! They just grabbed Al!"  
  
Sam dropped the phone and centered himself in front of the screen. All he saw were retreating heels. Beth's hand was over her mouth, and her eyes were wide and shiny with fear as she tried to catch her breath. Sam held her shoulders to stop her sobs, and glared at Dr. Fuller over Beth's head. His lips formed the word, "Go to him!"  
  
"Center me on Al!" Dr. Fuller ordered as the Imaging Chamber door shut, cutting off her exit. She punched the handlink, and popped out of Sam's sight.  
  
****************  
  
The tunnel was starting to feel hot and close to Al. Mentally running through some relaxing techniques that Beth had taught him kept him from jumping up and berating each masked captor as they passed. After what seemed like forever two of the terrorists approached him, and without a word grabbed his arms and forced him to exit the tram. They bound his hands behind his back, and started down the tunnel. He heard Weitzman utter an oral objection that was quickly silenced.  
  
Once they were around the bend from the trams and out of sight Al was able to make out a group of four men waiting for them.  
  
"Tea time?" Al inquired sarcastically. "Gee, I forgot the crumpets." They responded by shoving him to his knees in front of the group. The tall man stepped forward, and Al thought he might be the one that had thumped him in the chest earlier. Did he know him? "Gonna aim better this time?" He sneered at the man.  
  
"Ah. Calavicci, isn't it?" The man replied with a thick Middle Eastern accent.  
  
All Al could see were the man's lips and eyes, and he studied them closely for any sign of recognition and future reference, if he had a future.  
  
"And an Admiral. Well. We know a bit about you already." The man paused.  
  
"Well," Al said smartly. "I didn't know I had a fan club."  
  
The tall man smiled. "You know? We had our list of demands all set to go, then along came you to complicate things. Actually, that's not quite true." The tall man started pacing a slow circle. "In reality, you are the icing on the cake, so to speak. A nice surprise."  
  
Al didn't like the sound of this. "So this is a surprise party."  
  
"Yeah. And your part is to tell us all you know about the Starbright and Quantum Leap projects." He turned suddenly and pushed Al in the chest with his booted foot.  
  
The Admiral toppled backwards and opted to lay still. He felt the tip of the man's rifle against his temple, and glared at him in the dark.  
  
"You can start anytime," the man growled through the mask. 


	7. Part Seven

HOSTILE TAKEOVER  
  
BY AJ Squaredaway  
  
PART SEVEN  
  
Sam felt the alarms going off in his head. He calmed Beth down, and she pulled herself together quickly. He had to admire her; she could work under stress. The clock was ticking on this one, and his desire to be with his friend was overwhelming. He had to get down there. But how?  
  
Just then Chuck sauntered up, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pile of papers in his hand. "Hey, Billy, who's your helper?" He asked quietly, nodding his head towards Beth.  
  
"Oh. She's the wife of one of the hostages. She's been able to put some names to some faces for me."  
  
He chuckled quietly and shook his head. "I don't know where you get these plans, Billy-boy, but I guess ya gotta milk any cow you can get for information, huh?"  
  
Sam didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't.  
  
Chuck rubbed his forehead. "This is weird, Billy. I thought we were dealing with an organized group here, and would have their demands by now. I wonder what's up their sleeves?"  
  
"No list of demands yet?"  
  
"No. And the longer we wait the more nervous I get. There's something not right here. So, who are these guys?"  
  
Sam started in on what he had. Chuck was amazed at the amount of information Sam had, but passed off any comment with a clap to the back that nearly knocked Sam off his feet. "You keep this up, and you're going to have nothing to do!" He commented.  
  
Sam brightened. "I know. My guys are doing great and don't really need me. So, I want to be on the entry team."  
  
Chuck looked stunned. "What? You gave that up years ago! And we need you here..."  
  
Sam cut him off. "No, you don't. My guys are doing great, just like you said. And I am the most experienced, right?" Sam took a gamble with that comment, but with the respect William Takeshta seemed to command, he didn't think he was far off.  
  
"Well, maybe." Chuck studied him closely. "And they do need the experience, now that they have to make two entry teams. You sure about this?"  
  
Sam nodded. "Extremely."  
  
"I know they have the van team already lined up. You'd be needed on the tunnel team."  
  
"Yeah, I know." In reality, he didn't know, but was pleased at the luck.  
  
Chuck seemed to be calculating in his head. "OK, I'll see what I can do. Stand by."  
  
"Yes, sir," Sam automatically answered, causing Chuck to guffaw loudly.  
  
" 'Sir'! You crack me up, Billy!" Shaking his head, he walked away.  
  
***************  
  
Al thought his head was going to explode. He was careful not to move as he slowly came back to consciousness, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Was the buzzing he heard in his head, or real? Mentally pushing the throbbing aside, he concentrated on the noise and it slowly morphed into a man's voice. It sounded like it was right in front of him.  
  
Moving his head ever so slightly, he made sure he was facing the noise. He cracked an eyelid just enough to make out movement in the dark, then was suddenly blinded by a bright light. Was he dead? Was this the tunnel to...where ever it was those near-death experiences went to? He saw the shape of a person in front of the bright light, then the shape stepped back.  
  
An angel?  
  
Beth?  
  
Al held back from calling to the form, and it disappeared. He squinted, trying to see it again, but it was gone. His thinking was fuzzy for a few moments more, and then the buzzing in his head again transformed into a man's voice, which was coming from a shadow of a man near the wall. As his thinking cleared, he dismissed the thoughts of Beth and the angel from his head. The pain made it obvious he was still alive.  
  
From what Al could see, the shadow-man was by himself, carrying on a conversation in ... Chinese? Al shut his eyes again, took a relaxing breath, and listened again. It was Chinese. Not all Chinese, though. The conversation was interlaced with Arabic.  
  
Again he opened his eye, but just enough to verify what he heard. The bi-lingual man was talking to the wall. No, he had something in his hand. Ignoring the drumbeats in his head, Al concentrated on the man and focused his woozy thinking process. The man was talking on a phone that was hard wired into the mass of cables in the ceiling of the tunnel.  
  
He had a contact somewhere on the outside! A contact who spoke Chinese?  
  
For the third time he wondered if he was hallucinating, but the taste of blood on his tongue, as well as the conga drums playing in his skull convinced him this was reality. Al didn't know any Chinese, but he did recognize one term the man had just used, and it was the term for the Chinese Silkworm missile. Al quickly put together the connection; those were the types of missiles used to guard the entrance to the Persian Gulf!  
  
Then Al heard two other terms he knew, 'Starbright' and 'Quantum Leap', and knew a deal was going down. These terrorists were mercenaries, and they had an outside contact!  
  
*************************  
  
Project Quantum Leap  
  
Stallion's Gate, New Mexico  
  
Donna knew that time counted on this one. Even Ziggy may not be fast enough when the time came for information. What they needed was information accessible in a heartbeat, and the Visitor was the only source on hand with this expertise.  
  
She strode into Dr. Beeks office and brainstormed the situation. If things started moving quickly in D.C. they knew the Visitor could turn the tide. If he would help was another question.  
  
"We've built up an unspoken bond of respect," Verbena commented. "I think he'd listen to me. Shall I tell him everything?"  
  
Donna went with her gut instinct. "Yes," she said without hesitation.  
  
"Stay here," the psychiatrist said as she left her office. Donna watched through the one-way glass as Dr. Beeks entered the room. The image of Sam's body was on top of the bed reading a book, and straightened up when the doctor entered. The fact that a Marine guard stood just inside the closed door didn't escape the Visitor's notice, and Donna grinned at the ploy. The Marine's presence added to the doc's credibility.  
  
Sam's face was unreadable as he sat with his hands crossed in his lap. Donna could see Verbena's hands and mouth moving as she spoke, apparently with no response from the Visitor. Then, Verbena rolled a small, metal table to the bedside, and cleared off the top. She pointed at the reflective surface, and Donna saw the man hesitate. Verbena crossed her arms and took a step back, waiting.  
  
Billy Takeshta wasn't an impulsive man, but he obviously was a curious one. It was just a matter of minutes before he leaned over the table. Donna had to admire him for his restraint, and knew it was involuntary motion that made his hands go to his face. That seemed to be the first motion a Visitor did upon seeing Sam's face returning in a reflection, and it made her smile. Some things were consistent in a leap, after all!  
  
FBI Command Post  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
Sam spent the time conversing with Beth, trying to keep her distracted. She was able to identify two more people by the time Chuck returned.  
  
"McMartin was relieved you volunteered. He was short handed. Get over to his station to get geared up. I think we trained everyone on the team, so they'll know you!" His short laugh made Sam wonder what he meant by that. "Hey," he added as he turned to go. "The demands came through finally. And boy, are they weird. Something's going on here that we don't know about."  
  
Sam's eyebrows crawled up to his hairline, and he felt goosebumps on his arms. He didn't like the sound of this. He stopped Chuck from leaving with a touch to his arm, then asked. "What are they?"  
  
Chuck consulted his paper. "Well, they want the immediate release of Fazir Gha'bi from prison in Israel. He's up there with Bin Laudin as far as terrorist leaders go, and they want some government secrets."  
  
"Which secrets?"  
  
"Real secret-secrets. Black project stuff, I guess. Something called Starbright, and another called Quantum Leap. I've never heard of them, but the upper mucky-mucks sure are tightlipped about 'em. I don't see how they expect us to negotiate with something we know nothin' about." He flipped the paper back in a file and walked off, shaking his head and mumbling about keeping secrets from the FBI.  
  
Sam felt the blood drain from his face. He hardly heard Chuck finish his thought before he moved away. How did they know about the Project? Was Al the target all along? Or Weitzman?  
  
Is that why he was here?  
  
Somewhat dazed, Sam returned to Beth and thanked her for her help. Since the airport bar host had given her a ride to the Command Post, she had no way to leave so Sam told her that she could stay at his station. He left instructions with Scanlon to take over, and to keep and eye on Beth.  
  
It was all he could do to keep from running to the staging area for the entry teams. The thought that he might get killed right along with Al didn't even cross his mind. 


	8. Part Eight

HOSTILE TAKEOVER  
  
BY AJ Squaredaway  
  
PART EIGHT  
  
Project Quantum Leap  
  
Stallion's Gate, New Mexico  
  
Gooshie, Tina, Donna, Dr. Beeks and Billy Takeshta were gathered in front of the screen. The picture screen showed a team of men trotting down the stairs of the Command Post. The picture was fuzzy and a little bouncy, obviously taken from a distance away. Donna's first impression was how they looked like a bunch of turtles; they were thick and round from the amount of armor they wore. Only their heads were uncovered, their helmets and gas masks tucked under their arms for now. The camera zoomed in to the faces of the men, one at a time as they passed the camera. The Visitor whispered each man's name as they passed, and ticked off the count on his fingers. When they were finally assembled in front of their supervisor, obviously getting last minute instructions, Billy said, "That's the first string right there. The diversion group must be assembling somewhere else." He pointed at the screen. "These are the guys this is all riding on. I bet the diversion team will stabilize the  
van while these men neutralize the targets holding the hostages."  
  
"How can you tell?" Beeks asked, squinting at the screen.  
  
The Visitor smiled. "I know these guys like my own brothers. I know their strengths. They want the bigger guys to take down the target holding the deadman's switch, and the more maneuverable men to infiltrate the hostage scene. Can you show the two cameras side by side? The fiber optic and this news feed?" He asked Beeks, but she answered by glancing up.  
  
"Ziggy?"  
  
Ziggy did the computer equivalent of an insulted sniff. "Of course I can," she snapped, and the screen split.  
  
The Visitor reached up and put his fingers on the screen, touching the group of men. It was like a dream. He wondered again if he was dead, and this was perhaps a chance to redeem himself? He shook his head to stop that train of thought, and noticed the nagging feeling that there was a vital piece of information missing on this action. He started running everything he knew through his mind once more. "Could I run through some of those photos again?" He asked. Tina handed him a fat file, and he started through them, one by one, while the others watched the drama unfold. The entry team moved away from the camera, donning their headgear. The assault was about to begin.  
  
"All right, are we all set? This isn't going to be easy. We have to pass on information instantly. Every second counts." Donna shifted nervously as she spoke.  
  
Everyone nodded, and Gooshie notified Sammie Jo. "She said she's going to stick to Dr. Beckett like glue," Gooshie reported.  
  
"She'd better," the Visitor said. "After that helmet's on, everyone looks alike. And she has to yell. He has ear plugs on for the explosives." Gooshie passed on the information.  
  
When the men disappeared from the screen, the view got a little boring. On one side was the fuzzy image of the hostages, and on the other the news camera view of outside the Command Post. Donna was glad the volume was turned down and didn't have to listen to the inane comments she was sure the reporters were tossing out to keep the viewers tuned in. It seemed like forever, sitting there waiting for something to happen with the sound of the Visitor flipping through the stack of photos. He was unflappable. Those were his best friends heading off into who-knows-what, and he didn't appear to notice.  
  
After awhile the sound stopped abruptly, and Donna glanced his way. She saw his head slowly rise up after studying one particular photo, a puzzled look on his frowning face.  
  
"Oh my God!" Tina screamed, snapping Donna's attention back to the screen. "What happened?! Oh, God, it exploded! Al and Beth!" Her knees wobbled and Verbena kept her from collapsing to the floor. Donna felt the blood drain from her face.  
  
The television picture shook violently as the screen filled with black and yellow, then static. It took a few seconds for the studio news crew to realize what had happened and cut back to the studio. Feeling sick, Donna leaned forward and turned up the volume.  
  
"There's been an explosion! We have no details yet, but it appears there has been some sort of explosion. We are unable to contact our crew on the scene at the moment..."  
  
The Visitor's eyes were locked on the screen, his hands still gripping the photos. "A back up detonator! That's it!" He flipped quickly through the photos, tossing all but three aside. He jumped to his feet, and slammed the photos down on the console. "They immobilized the target in the van, who had a detonator." He pointed to the suspect's hand, gripping something tightly. "It's either a dummy detonator, or they gang wired a second one in the subway, tied into the same explosives!" He was talking excitedly now, pointing to a second picture from the tunnel, taken by the remote camera. "Here. That guy has it. I assumed it was a grenade of some sort, but something didn't look right and it's been bothering me."  
  
He pointed out the device to Gooshie and Donna. "See? I bet both are wired to the same pile of explosives, or the one in the van is a dummy. That explains the passiveness of the van driver. Did you notice how he wasn't the one giving the demands? This one," he tapped at a fuzzy picture taken of a suspect in the tunnel, "will insure detonation. A back up system! You've got to tell your man! Where is he right now?" Billy Takeshta had gotten a grip on this time travel concept, and wasn't wasting time mourning over his currently dead friends when he knew he could save them.  
  
Gooshie's hand flew over the controls. "They're entering the sewers now. We have..uh...85 seconds until the explosion."  
  
"I need to see a replay of the remote camera feed! We've got to locate this guy!" The Visitor waved the picture above his head.  
  
Ziggy instantly cut the news room scene so the fish-eye distorted, black and white remote camera view took up the whole screen. The picture rewound, and the Visitor studied it carefully as the seconds ticked by. Sam and Al's lives, all the lives on the screen, depended on the expert eye of Billy Takeshta. The murmur of barely controlled, current-time hysteria could be heard on another television screen across the room, but the Visitor was cool and professional.  
  
"They've set the explosive to enter the tunnel," Gooshie reported.  
  
The Visitor barely acknowledged him as his eyes were tuned to the screen. "Filter out some of the black," he ordered. Ziggy complied without hesitation, and the screen lightened a bit. "There!" he barked, finger jabbing the screen. There was about a second of movement in the lower left part of the screen. "I've accounted for everyone else. That's him. The team will enter off to his left, so your man has to duck right immediately and grab this guy!"  
  
"They're entering the tunnel!" Gooshie breathed.  
  
"Tell him not to shoot!" Billy ordered, spinning to face the programmer. The man's face was right in front of Gooshie's, oblivious to the programmer's halitosis. "Don't shoot him! His hand has to be immobilized! It's a deadman's switch. If he lets go of it, everything goes!"  
  
Gooshie was passing on the information as it left the Visitor's lips, and Donna proceeded to drag the Visitor back to the Waiting Room praying for an impending leap.  
  
Senate Subway  
  
Washington, D.C.  
  
All Sam could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears, and his own heavy breathing. His fingers tingled with fear as he followed the team. He recognized the final section from the reconnaissance photographs, and he felt the fear change into determination. It was up to him to save Al and all the others. Failure was not an option. He flexed his hands, loosening his death grip on the rifle. Visibility was poor through the mask, but he had a clear idea of what to expect once inside. It was now or never. Voices crackled in his ear.  
  
"Nothing's changed. The hostages are still in place. Ready on my count. First diversion is underway." Sam's heart jumped to his throat, and he willed it back down. This was it.  
  
"First target neutralized! Go!"  
  
Instantly, the team leaped forward, the wall caving in from an expertly placed explosion. They spilled into the tunnel, right into the side of the rail car as planned.  
  
Then Sam heard Dr. Fuller screaming at him. As he entered the opening, he instinctively turned to his right, realizing afterwards that that's what she had been yelling. His body followed her directions before his brain had time to make sense of them, and found himself grappling with one of the terrorists. Sam had dropped his rifle, and it was dangling by the shoulder strap as he wrestled the masked man.  
  
Sam realized now what he was doing as he tried to maintain his death grip on the terrorist's fist. They crashed to the floor and rolled over and over in the darkness. All he could hear was, "Don't let go! Don't let go!" and the snarling of the suspect. He felt himself yanked up, then slammed onto the side of the tram, the bare area of his neck just below his helmet cracking on the edge of one of the seats. He saw stars. His adversary slammed him into the seat again, and Sam started to see black edges surrounding the stars. Sam poured all his fading strength into his grip.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, Sam felt his adversary jerk back and a tug on his rifle's shoulder strap. "Hang on tight, kid!" A familiar, gravely voice beckoned from the closing darkness, and he complied. There was a short burst of fire that deafened Sam, and his arms were about yanked out of his sockets as the terrorist fell lifelessly to the floor, dragging the scientist down to land with a thump on top of the masked body. Sam still had his grip on the deadman's trigger, and he felt his rifle clank on the floor next to him. It smelled strongly of gunpowder.  
  
"Ya did good, kid," coughed the voice of Al Calavicci close to his ear. Sam tried to look at his friend, but the gas mask made it impossible to turn his head. He couldn't let go of the trigger to face his friend, and by the time his woozy brain cleared and he was able to speak, Al had moved off to brief the agents on his information concerning the Chinese.  
  
"Dr. Beckett!" Sam hardly heard the hologram next to him. "Ziggy says you've done it! Looks like the Admiral uncovered more than just a terrorist attack. There's a conspiracy to steal American technology, too! They know about the Project!"  
  
"I want to see Al!" He choked, his eyes watering.  
  
Another team member with 'Bomb Squad' embossed across his body armor knelt by him, and took over control of the switch. "I got it. Good job, Billy!" Two more technicians joined him, and Sam was finally able to loosen his cramped fingers and back away. He struggled to his feet.  
  
The smoke was clearing slowly, and he ripped off the gas mask. There was a stinging in his eyes and throat as he searched the rail car with his eyes. Just as he located his friend in the darkness, Al turned and met his eyes. The older man smiled slightly, stood up straight, gave Sam a crisp salute from across the car, and turned back to the agents. Apparently he didn't see the Observer in the smoke.  
  
"How did the Chinese find out about the Project?" Sammie Jo asked the beeping handlink.  
  
Sam felt the tingling of the impending leap, took a step and reached out to his friend. "Al!" He coughed, and then an electric blue cloud engulfed his vision.  
  
FINIS 


End file.
